


Descension

by BatmanofGotham



Series: How the Mockingjay Sings [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman: A Lonely Place of Dying, Final Crisis - Fandom, Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Mild Profanity, canon character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 19:33:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11111361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BatmanofGotham/pseuds/BatmanofGotham
Summary: “How could you do this to me?!” Tim screams on the clocktower as Batman and Robin face him.Bruce dies, and they all cope in their own way. Some of them move on, and some don't.





	Descension

**Author's Note:**

> I changed a lot of things. Sorry.

Contrary to what everyone might’ve thought, Tim didn’t hate Damian at first. In a way, Tim could actually sympathize with the boy.

But quickly, Tim realized that Damian was precocious, spoiled, and violent, all because he wanted to be. He battled Tim over the title of Robin, which was rightfully his, then sucker punched him off the T-rex in the Batcave when Tim stopped fighting to help him. 

As Dick had cleaned his wounds in the Batcave, Tim had told Dick that Damian couldn’t be trusted. Dick had dabbed a bit more forcefully at his wounds, “Dami actually wants to help Bruce, Tim.” Tim sat up, knocking Dick’s hand away from his sternum. “What, just because he sees himself as Bruce’s son?” 

Dick frowned and retorted, “He wants Bruce’s approval.” Tim snorted, both at his so-called brother's statement and at the fact that he was defending Damian. “So he has to kill all his rivals?” He stood up, jumping off the bed and grabbing his shirt. “Whatever, _Dick_."

Their relationship grew worse as time passed, eventually reaching a point where they loathed each other to the point that they couldn’t even stand to be in the same room. 

 

And then Bruce _dies_. 

 

It’s like a thunderclap, an earthquake, shaking the lives of everyone. As he stands before Bruce’s grave, plain and simple, Dick bitterly thinks that nobody will truly understand. He kneels before the grey headstone, laying down a simple handful of wildflowers. _None of them really knew you_ , he thinks, laying a hand on the cold stone. He raises his face to the dark sky as the rain starts to fall. _How could they? How could they know how you gave it all?_

Bruce Wayne’s funeral is brief and small, with only the priest, Alfred, Leslie, him, Babs, Tim, and Damian. He thinks he sees Jason for a brief moment in the woods beside them. “…ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in the sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life.” The priest mutters the last words and closes the bible with a dull thud, stepping back. Dick steps forward, releasing the first handful of earth on the glossy black wood in a daze. 

He breathes in the scent of Gotham, of earth, of rain, of dust, and  _remembers_. 

…

The call he's been expecting, dreading, for years, is fairly uneventful. After all, they were vigilantes, the day would’ve come eventually. He’d always imagined it would be a little more dramatic - a frantic ringing, him grasping the phone with sweaty hands, a prayer on his lips. What is it, Alfred? Is Bru-

And Alfred would try, try to fit whatever fate Bruce had met into a palatable conversation, voice trembling. He would skip the gruesome details, sparing him the mistakes and regret, even though that was all he would think about.

(He would want to know - or so he'd thought, for so many years. Would want to know how it happened, even if his heart would shatter the very second he knew, because who was he kidding?)

A gunshot, in between plates of armor when the kevlar just didn't protect. A grapple line that just missed its mark, or maybe one that was cut. An explosion, perhaps, with Batman caught with hostages he couldn't bear to leave behind. A knife across his throat, or between his shoulders, or through the sternum. Sinking, sinking through the dark murky waters of the Gotham Bay, a stream of bubbles steadily escaping. Thrown into a wall that was too hard, too unforgiving, for him to do anything but fall to the ground-

In reality, the call is brief. Alfred shakes so hard, the receiver crackles. His voice is a hoarse whisper, grief hollowing out his words.

He's gone, the Butler _~~so much more than a butler a friend a father~~_  says, There was-a-an attack. I…...I'm so sorry.

And then he is alone in his apartment again, the phone dropping to the ground with a barely noticeable thud. Bludhaven is quiet in the distance. Millions of people, thousands of cars, hundreds of conversations, and for a moment it's...silent. Absolutely silent.

He stares at that one spot on his wall that’s peeling away, his hands trembling. He can’t seem to look away. Nightwing needs to go out in less than twenty minutes, but the mere _thought_ of putting on his suit is so alien, so outlandish, he can't even begin to fathom it.

It wasn't supposed to happen like this, he thinks, looking at the dirty tiles of the floor. It's a spare moment of sanity, a brief respite as the storms of grief swirl around him. Bruce...

It was never supposed to happen like this.

…

They held another funeral on the watchtower.  Of course. Bruce hadn’t been the most popular and had never tried to be, but they had great respect for the man. He had been a teacher, a guide, an ally, a mentor, something, to nearly everyone. He'd berated them, trained them, and pushed them, shaping them all together into something far greater than they ever could have been on their own.

It's not until he's standing on the Watchtower that he realizes. Diana's solemn benediction rings out behind him, a hero's blessing that sobers all present. Clark lays a heavy hand on Damian's shoulder in a gesture of comfort, and Dick watches as the youngest Wayne does nothing, says nothing, watching the coffin with wide eyes, as if expecting Bruce to suddenly reappear.  _Of course,_ Dick thought.  _He had been raised to think his father was immortal._

The ceremony, in all its grandeur, is brief. Superman pushes the empty coffin out into space, the tears flowing freely, little marble drops in the coldness of space, as he faces the morning sun. The rest of the Wayne family watch from the airlock pressed to the thick glass. Alfred has a white handkerchief, dabbing at his eyes as they watch the coffin disappear into the inky depths of space. 

Tim, Robin, stared at the disappearing coffin with rapt attention. Dick stands and looks at the wall instead, his stomach heaving. He thinks about the memorial that the League would commission in the Hall of Justice, Batman’s legacy forever frozen in stone. The wall is unremarkable, for all he stares at it, a light gray shade of metal. There's a small scratch on the wall. He stares and he stares until finally, finally, the funeral is done, and they're leaving.

…

Dick doesn’t say anything, but he sees Alfred crying when he’s dusting, Damian punching the wooden practice posts until his knuckles bleed, and Tim…Tim just stares at the portraits on the wall. Until one night he hears the screams coming from Tim’s rooms, and the next morning he finds the room completely wrecked. 

Tim turns up to breakfast, insisting that Bruce is alive, but trapped in a different time. Dick tries to understand, tries to tell Tim that Bruce won’t come back and this isn’t a healthy way of coping. Tim screams, and so does Damian and so does Dick. 

 

…

The Legacy can’t die, Dick realizes as Gotham falls into chaos and his brothers. Batman is needed, Dick realizes as he pulls the cowl down over his head. Damian just found his father and then lost him, he realizes as he offers Damian the title of Robin. 

…

 

“How could you do this to me?!” Tim screams on the clocktower as Batman and Robin face him. The wind whistles. They’re high enough that nobody can hear or see them, so their masks are all off. Tim wishes for the comfort of his expressions being masked. He feels vulnerable without his mask. 

Damian sneers, “Drake…”

“It’s Wayne!” Dick is looking at him like he should be the bigger man since Damian is just a kid, but the brat is sneering at him, just standing there in his suit. Bruce had promised him Robin was his for however long he wanted it. Tim had earned it. Dick had no right to take it from him, no right to give to Damian as if Tim’s feelings didn’t matter. His life had burnt down again and Robin was all he had left, why couldn’t Dick see that. His screams turn to hysterical laughter and he bends over holding his stomach. Dick steps forward in concern, but Tim abruptly straightens and punches Damian square in the face and probably would have followed it with another if Dick hadn’t held him back.

 

“Shut your mouth! No matter what you say, you don’t belong here and you know it. You don’t belong in that suit.” Tim struggles in Dick’s arms, elbowing him and breaking free. 

“No, Drake, you’re the one that doesn’t belong. You became obsolete the moment I arrived. I am the true son of Batman, and with me here there’s no need for a fake son any longer. And as the Son of Batman, Robin is my birthright.”

 

“I earned it. The _real_ Batman gave it to me. Dick has no right.”

 

Dick interrupts before they can argue any further. He looks pleadingly at Tim. “That doesn’t matter now. He’s gone, Tim. You have to accept it. Things have to change, but I still need you.”

 

But Dick was wrong. Bruce wasn’t gone. “He’s alive. Bruce is alive.” He says with conviction. “I can’t prove it yet, but I will.” He dives off the building, grappling hook firing in mid-air. 

 

“Stay here,” Dick sighs, “I’ll be back. I just need to talk to him.”

Damian’s disdain of Tim is palpable, “It’s just a waste of time,” he says in clipped, annoyed tones, “Drake won’t understand, you should--”

Dick jerks away from Damian a little harder than he means to, cutting him off with the suddenness of his actions. When he turns around to face the young boy, he notices the emotions cycling rapidly across his bare face. The foremost of those being anger. Dick frowns. “Damian, Tim is my brother,” he insists because they may not have a blood tie, but Dick has nothing but love for his younger siblings even if he sometimes doesn’t understand them. “I owe to him to explain things.”

“Fine. Go.” Damian crosses his arms over his chest and scowls. He doesn’t meet Dick’s gaze even when a large hand covers his shoulder and squeezes. “I don’t care.”

 

 

Tim is in downtown Gotham when Dick finally catches up with him.

“Tim,” Dick says into the silence because he can’t just let his little brother go without at least trying to explain. “Tim, please just listen to me.” He steps forward on the rooftop, trying to ignore the fact that Tim had stepped back, “I know you’re upset, but Damian’s--”

Tim shoves his hands back through his hair and laughs. The sound of it is bitter and Dick flinches back as though he’s been wounded by the broken glass sound of it.

“Now I know what you and Jason felt like.” There’s no sadness in Tim’s tone, only resignation. It’s as though Tim has been waiting and watching for something like this since the moment that the Drakes had died and Tim was adopted into the Wayne family. “Now I know why he hated me so much.”

His fingers curl into fists at his sides and tension sets in to make his arms shake. The grey-blue of his narrowed eyes looks almost dead and defeated as he stares right through Dick.

Dick sighs, longing for his domino again so he can run his hand through his hair. “Damian just found his Dad, Tim. He needed Robin.” He winces at his words, 

Tim barks a laugh and whirls around. “So I didn’t need Robin? He only met Bruce for a few weeks. Bruce has been my father for more than eight years.” He steps forward towards Dick menacingly. “You know, Robin was the only thing keeping me from the precipice.”

Dick gulps because this is so much larger than he expected. 

“Shit, Tim. I’m sorry.”

“I know you’re sorry.” Tim’s voice is a straight monotone and it’s just so not like Tim that Dick finds himself worrying about his brother and the way that Tim won’t let him touch him even a little bit. “You always are.” Tim steps onto the edge of the roof. “I can’t stay here anymore.”

 

“Tim, I--”

 

Tim falls. 

 

…

 

Half a world away, Ra’s Al Ghul tilts his head as his ninja reports. “This will be a delightful game to play,” Ra’s smiles as he rises. “Tell my lieutenant I’ll be leaving for Gotham tomorrow.”


End file.
